


Golden Brick Road

by Millennium_Fae



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Death, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, M/M, Other, Racism, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millennium_Fae/pseuds/Millennium_Fae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Solavellan snippets, exploring their developing relationship from beginning to end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Brick Road

Lavellan had visited the Fereldan Hinterlands, once before. Her clan had migrated to the area for a brief reconnaissance, and after determining the local to be insufficient for a long-term stay, they had quickly moved on. It had happened many years ago, during her adolescence. 

They didn't recall it very well. Only vague memories of the chilly forest climate, and one particular dramatic evening of fending off an irate bear from the night camp. Now they stood here once again.

A full three days in the Hinterlands had barely covered a third of the overall area. Lavellan was due at the Horsemaster Dennet's farm on behalf of the Inquisition to inquire about mounts for their new militia. Scout Harding had joined them at the Hinterland outskirts to vaguely wave towards the direction of said Horsemaster's whereabouts, and Lavellan, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas began their trek immediately afterwards. 

To Lavellan's minor embarrassment, they had actually fallen in step behind Cassandra for the first few minutes, under the impression that Cassandra would be the one leading the group. But one strict glare from the Seeker spoke her true expectations for the newly-crowned Herald of Andraste.

So it was with no small reluctance did Lavellan take the reigns and lead the three towards Mythal knows where. Up and down several grassy slopes, pass innumerable rock cliffs and alcoves, with only the occasional ram or fennec fox for friendly company. The occasional rouge Templar band offered the not-so-friendly company.

By the third night, Lavellan was on edge. They sat upon a rock and consulted their map in the twilight ambience as the others pattered to-and-fro, preparing for the evening; Cassandra pattered with the nearby Inquisition soldiers and scouts, Solas squatting near the fire as he stroked the embers to a blaze, and Varric making his typical gruff fuss as he shed himself of his armour and pack, griping about how is back felt 'like Cassandra had a disagreement with his spine'. 

Lavellan continued to eye the map - by all accounts, they should arrive at the Horsemaster by tomorrow afternoon.  _About time,_  Lavellan thought bitterly.  _I'll never get the stench of mabari out of my clothes, at this rate._  But going by their recent luck, they'll be sidetracked by some random troop of bandits, or more irate Templars, or a battalion of bears. Add on however many rifts are between them and Dennet, their journey might last a whole two more days.

They sighed, folded up the map, and rubbed at the space between their eyes. One Inquisition soldier emptied a small burlap sack of oats into a kettle over the fire, another unfurled a collection of hide tents. Varric slumped himself nearby, unpacking a bound leather journal and a fountain pen, beginning his nightly written accounts as per the previous nights. He usually only managed a couple thoughtful paragraphs before the fire died too dim for further writing; apparently, not all dwarves had the ability to scour in the night dim like a fox.

Cassandra soon settled herself as well - at least, as settled as she could be. She sat on the hard edge of a nearby boulder, took out a whetstone, and began to gently stroke the flat blade of her sword. Her practiced eye knew her sword edge like a second hand, and the blade wasn't in any real need of a touch-up. Sharpening a weapon seemed to be her method of relaxation.

Solas, meanwhile, excused himself the moment the nearby Inquisition soldiers took over dinner responsibilities, leaving Solas unoccupied. He stood up and wandered to the near distance, leaving his staff behind, and stood with his back to the others as he gazed into the far distance. Lavellan watched the moonlight rise steadily higher, the square reflection traveling ever so slightly across his bald head.

Even as the porridge was deemed cooked, and salted fish was passed around as additional flavoring for the meager meal, Solas did not stir from his ponderous spot. The yeasty smell of boiled oats did not seem to draw his nose, even though neither of them had eaten all day. 

Lavellan spent a few minutes spooning hot oats into their mouth. Eventually, they decided a certain elf mustn't go hungry, and got up to dish out a portion of oats into a spare bowl. They also stuck a few strips of salted cod into the porridge, something reminiscent of a quality garnish to a gourmet dish. The thought made Lavellan give a waspish grin. Decadent. 

Solas heard Lavellan approach before Lavellan reached his side. He turned and watched with a steady gaze Lavellan step their way towards him, steaming bowl in hand. Both elves held their gaze for a few silent seconds, until Lavellan stood steadily at Solas' side, bodily facing the distance along with Solas, but eyes locked onto the other.

Lavellan waved the bowl. "Dinner, Solas."

"Thank you, Inquisitor. I shall join you shortly." Solas responded without a beat.

"You haven't eaten anything all day," Lavellan noted, "aren't you hungry?"

Solas shrugged. "Perhaps. I was just taking a brief respite to enjoy the night air. It's peaceful, here." 

Lavellan followed Solas' line of sight to the horizon beyond. The setting sun left a slight tint of purple-pink to a sky dotted with thousands of stars. The darkness had fallen to the point where the distant trees were nothing more than an inky silhouette on the edges of the emerald green landscape, now turned a peaceful blue in the evening dim. In the ambience, Lavellan could hear the innocent trickling of a stream over the subtle dim of the Inquisition company nearby.

It was peaceful. At least, in comparison to the harried day. 

Lavellan was already growing tired of this war.

"Well, be sure to join us soon. Or at least dine with me, in case you're, just _perhaps_ , possibly hungry."

Solas gave a small grin at that. " _Perhaps_ I'll take you up on that offer."

Lavellan didn't give Solas an option to reconsider. They held out the still-warm bowl, their other hand spooning a portion from their own bowl with purpose, eyebrows raised. 

Solas accepted the bowl with a slightly-exasperated look, but began a few reasonable bites nevertheless. He definitely didn't eat with the fever of a man on his only meal of the day, which struck Lavellan as unabashedly odd. But Solas' strange appetite was a non-issue, so they didn't press the subject. 

If Lavellan was honest (and just that tiniest bit cheeky), Solas was a never ending source of oddity. 

But they enjoyed it. Partly because, it seemed to them, Solas also enjoyed Lavellan's enjoyment of his ... oddities. Surely it must be a better alternative than being disregarded because of them.

He wasn't exactly the punching bag of ridicule amongst their rag-tag group of has-beens and greenhands, but he certainly didn't fit as readily as the others. Solas was charismatic enough to warrant the barest due of respect and acceptance, but him amongst the human, Chantry-driven militia ... it was like a square peg amongst circle holes. 

Lavellan, too, felt that particular spotlight upon their back, but less severe, given the circumstances. And Solas' oddity can't all be attributed to his status as elven apostate - Lavellan still remembered their heated debate about the Dalish, and even recalling that discussion still raised their ire just that much. Lavellan knew that Solas would also be outcast amongst the Dalish, even though he was an elf himself.

Perhaps Solas was the type of person to not fit readily anywhere.

If so, that might explain his hesitancy to mingle amongst the Inquisition. Lavellan could understand an elven apostate not wanting to break bread with the likes of Cassandra and similar ilk, but Solas' standoffish behavior could very well be the end of him, if things went south. 

That was how Lavellan viewed the circumstances. When they first woke in chains, to an irate Cassandra and a bitter Leliana, they were sure it was the end of them. And a tiny, hidden part of them still believed that the glowing mark on their hand was the only thing keeping them alive. Or a free elf, at any rate.

Lavellan couldn't force the man to make friends amongst the company, but they could make that effort to reach out to him, instead. They had the inkling that Solas would appreciate the effort, no matter where it led the two of them.

Lavellan watched as Solas continued to eat, his face as bland as the oats. "I meant to ask you, how did you 'sense' that strange artifact we found near the crossroads?"

"Objects of strong magical energy tend to leave a strong mark upon the world." Solas replied smoothly. "I've always been particularly sensitive to them."

Lavellan shrugged. "Ah, and here I thought you had been directed by spirits of your dreams, as you did say before. But actually, we were led there by your magical elven nose, silly me. Of course that's how it works."

To Lavellan's slight surprise, Solas gave a small smile at that. It was tiny, but bright and sincere nonetheless, with that same twinkle in his eye that shown when teasing about his lack of appetite.

"Could have been both," he replied in a teasing voice.

"Could be," you humored him.

Solas didn't say anything. Lavellan shrugged and continued, "But in all honesty, how do you know about these things? And how, exactly, are they meant to strengthen the Veil?"

And as quickly as the spark came, it died, and Solas turned away from Lavellan to continue eyeing the night horizon. He opted to remain silent.

 _It goes to show, that obviously showcasing you've got something to hide is sometimes a better alternative than lying outright,_ Lavellan thought to themselves.

Because Lavellan knew that they were pushing it, and Solas would never admit to whatever secrets he had. At least not now.

The two elves stood in silence once more, Lavellan finishing off their last spoonfuls of oats, and Solas' bowl set aside. The dimmed chatter and rustle behind them spoke that the rest of the company had mostly settled down to sleep.

"Look," Solas said suddenly. Lavellan followed his pointing finger into the distance, amongst the tall grasses.

Two pairs of reflective eyes. The sight sent a sudden wave of homesickness, reminding Lavellan of arriving back at camp after a hunt, and being greeted by several glowing eyes in the pitch dark of night. These particular eyes were quickly scrutinized by Lavellan's sharp elven vision to belonging to a doe and her young fawn.

The doe, tall and graceful, was staring boldly back at the elves and the light of the dying campfire behind them. Lavellan continued to watch as the fawn lost interest and broke his gaze, ducking their small head underneath their mother's belly. They were most likely out looking for food, and watchful of predators. 

"Dareth shiral," Lavellan muttered to the two innocent souls.

\---

The next morning, Lavellan woke before the crack of dawn, due to habit of being their clan's main provider of game. Before all this Inquisition gaggle, Lavellan would begin their day before the sun was even touching the edge of the horizon. They would suit up, join the other hunters, and hopefully be back at camp with a sizable stock before the rest of the family was awake. 

The Lavellan clan usually consisted of several clusters of way-camps, carefully situated in a circular position that left the hunters, spokespeople, traders, and guards on the outside, and families, children, and important figures hidden away in the center. If shems ever came in contact with Clan Lavellan, it would only be with the six or seven-person camp positioned nearer the main roads. Very rarely were outsiders permitted to journey further into the forests, and be given audience to elders and the like.

So getting up early was not just in effort to snag game, it was also a precaution against any possible visitors. Lavellan, as head hunter, was the teeth of the wolf that made up the Lavellan Clan.

This particular morning, Lavellan crawled out the hide tent to spot with surprise Solas already awake as well. They had never seen Solas conscious at such an early hour. He may live like a monk and have a temperament the most disciplined academic would envy, but he coveted his beauty sleep like a moody teen. More than once, Cassandra had to wrap upon the hide cloth of his tent, near where his head lay, while _shouting_ , in order to drag him awake. And when he finally does emerge, it's with a sickly pallor and clouded movements. 

Sometimes, Lavellan wondered if they'll ever dare actually enter his tent to make some mischief as method to wake him up. Just to see his reaction.

Lavellan approached Solas, but before they could inquire about his strange punctuality, Solas looked back at Lavellan and gestured to the horizon, like he did the night before.

Lavellan followed his gaze - 

\- a small, brown lump, half hidden by the tall grass. Lavellan couldn't see it in its entirety, but they could see enough to know that it was the fawn from before. And it was dead.

At first, they didn't know how to react. Lavellan themselves have killed many deer in their life, including adolescents. They've wandered upon carrion, some fresh, and some rotted away to almost dust. And in any other circumstance, Lavellan and the Inquisition company could have slain and feasted on both mother and child, if they had the mind to. The image of this particular fawn was very familiar, but also simultaneously very alien.

They looked back at Solas, due to having no other idea on what to do, and saw Solas' eyebrows clenched in the middle, and his lips in a tight frown. 

And Lavellan realized; a young child has died, with their mother nowhere in sight. It was a sad situation, and Lavellan was allowed to be sad in return. No matter how it happened, or how often it occurs elsewhere.

Both elves stood in silence once again, like they did just a few hours ago.

"... how could this happen?" Lavellan whispered. "We saw the two of them just last night."

Solas didn't answer, and Lavellan did suspect possibilities; maybe the fawn was ill, and collapsed briefly after they had gone to bed. Perhaps the mother abandoned the fawn for whatever reason, and the fawn had remained in its spot until it succumbed to exposure. 

Lavellan raised their gaze to Solas again, and Solas turned his head at the same time. It seemed to Lavellan that Solas looked the tiniest bit ancient in his far gaze, like he was looking at Lavellan, but also looking past them. At something they didn't know.

They both knew that the two of them stood upon a precipice of corpses from the ongoing war, and from whatever new threat created the Breach and threatened life as Thedas knew it. And the faraway corpse of a young animal seemed to spark an empathy that both risked loosing from all the stress.

And there was something about seeing this sadness in Solas, that he had the capacity for pain upon seeing the odd dead animal, gave Lavellan a strange comfort. Like a reminder he was capable of tenderness. It made him more real.

The alert stare in Solas' expression made Lavellan suspect that he felt exactly the same way about them.

The two suddenly became aware of a tell-tale bustle of solders behind them, followed by the carrying voice of Cassandra giving morning commands, and a drowsy Varric with equally sharp remarks. Lavellan looked up; the sun had risen while the two of them were mourning.

Without another word, Solas turned away to gather his things. Lavellan stayed behind, their nerves still the slightest bit frayed. 

Maybe it was a good thing they'll never get used to death, but it doesn't make things any easier.

Lavellan wondered if Solas, in his elder ways, was more equipped to handle death and the sorrow that comes with it. 

But, Lavellan realized as they watched Solas straddle up amongst Varric and Cassandra, if he was more recipient, they probably wouldn't have shared the moment that just occurred.

 _Perhaps his oddity isn't because of his interests, or his background,_ Lavellan thought to themselves. _Maybe it's because of pain accumulated from decades._

Cassandra waved Lavellan over, and Lavellan immediately put on their 'Inquisitor' face, joined their new company, and set out to begin another day.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come!


End file.
